While they’re working, I get a moment to question Prez, and find out that, sadly, Heathen was, up to now, our only fatal casualty. I also had a word with Paint after his head was stitched. Apparently, he’d been knocked out at the first onslaught and regained consciousness in time to make his presence felt toward the end of the action.
It takes a couple of hours in all before Stalker’s stitched up and passed out. Words’ as well as Paint’s heads now holding together, another bullet extracted from Piston’s arm, and Freak subjected to her scrutiny to check for a concussion. She andSaint work side by side, and it’s the VP who finally stitches my injury.
Bron looks dead on her feet. Prez waves us off, saying he and Saint will clean up and get Stalker up to a room. Gratefully, I lead her out of church and into the clubroom.
My path brings me face-to-face with Bigfoot, the prez who’d, with his men, saved our bacon.
“Short,” he acknowledges me, taking hold of my arm, pulling me to him, then slapping my back. I hide my wince. When Bigfoot hits you, even a big fucker like me feels it. “Fuckin’ glad you came out the other side. Sorry to hear about Tempest and Genie.”
He releases me, and I murmur something about how they’ll probably be fine, not much they can’t handle, which we both know is more optimism than truth.
I then notice he’s stroking his bushy beard while casting an appraising look at the woman at my side. “New sweet butt?”
I pull her close to me and growl, “Bronwyn’s my fuckin’ woman, and she’s a nurse. She’s been treating our injured.”
“Whoa.” He raises his hands. “No need to piss on her. I was only asking. Not that I’d be interested even if she was. I’ve got my ol’ lady Sammy waiting for me at home.” Now I remember, I realise how crass I sounded.
“Hey, Baffle,” he calls out to his VP. “Get the word out on Bron here.” He points to the woman I’m still holding tightly. “She’s Short’s. She’s also got medical experience if Grease needs that scratch he’d gotten stitched.”
“Grease is here?” I look around, but I can’t see him. “Is Glitch here too?” The two are brothers and often travel as a pair.
“Nah,” the New Mexico prez replies. “But Dime’s with us, as is Smooth. Had to bring him in case we lost our way on the road.” He gives a crooked grin as he refers to their road captain. “Oh, and Jester.”
Baffle snorts, stares at his prez, then offers advice to me. “Just watch out if Jester offers your woman his sweatshirt.”
“Shut it,” Bigfoot snarls.
It’s obviously a private joke, so I don’t question it, and anyway, Bronwyn’s tugging at my arm and telling me, “If there’s another man who needs treatment, I need to see him.”
She’s spent half the night stressing and half working. She’s worn out. “Grease in danger of dying?” I growl, directing my question toward the New Mexico prez. “‘Cause if not, Saint’s got the skills to patch him up. Bron needs rest.”
Bigfoot looks from me to her, narrows his eyes, then steps aside. “He’ll live,” he allows. “Just needs a couple of stitches.”
But before we move, I hold out my hand. “Thanks, Brother, for coming to our rescue. Hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived. You must have wings on your fuckin’ bikes to have gotten here in time.”
He takes the hand I’ve held out, pulls me in, giving me another, butthank fucka gentler slap on the back, which I return. “Fuck, Bro. Just glad we could help. Decided to set off soon after Bullseye’s initial phone call. We’d heard word that the Mojave Devils were up to something and thought you might need us sooner rather than later.”
And he was right.
If he hadn’t turned up, I hate to think where I’d be tonight. Probably Hell if I think about it too much.
